


Confession

by Bridgette_Hayden



Category: Original Work
Genre: Clothed sex fetish, Forced Orgasm, M/M, Priest Abuse, Priest Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, priest fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bridgette_Hayden/pseuds/Bridgette_Hayden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A priest is stalked by unholy desire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confession

He follows me. How long has it been now?  
  
I let him stalk me. Or do I lead him?   
  
I’m nervous. It’s because of Pam. They found her, the seventeenth victim. I think of this while headlights stream overhead, oblivious that I’m down here. Just as Pam was down here. I feel responsible; I’m a man of God. I come to the underpass do his work.  
  
Every Thursday for the past five weeks Pam and her downtrodden peers gave me a place in their circle. Except for last night. I couldn’t make it. 

  
Going there now, I feel my mission torn from me. Torn by a stronger incentive. Not mine – his, the one who follows me. I don’t look behind me; I don’t have to. I know what I’ll see.  
  
At first I really was afraid of him.  A rough sort, when I discovered him behind me that night, the kind of punk who gets his kicks making people nervous. Then he got closer and I saw his size. Saw that he was a man, not a kid, that he could use a shave, perhaps some sleep, and that his drab olive jacket blew open. I walked faster.   
  
I’m forty, not as apt to tackle an assailant as I might’ve at twenty.  People tell me that I look fit. I know better. But surely this man didn’t think that a priest would have anything worth mugging for. Then I slowed, coming to my senses. I decided to lead him to God.   
  
We were standing in the gritty dark as cars raced over the bypass. I turned to him. “Why are you following me? What do you want?”  
  
I couldn’t see his face very clearly, but his voice shook with emotion. “You’re the one who saves others. That’s what you do, right?”  
  
Is that what this was about? “No. Not me. I merely try to help.”  
  
He came closer. “No. You’re a good man. And only a good man can help me. Only a good man can do what it takes to save another person’s life.”  
  
Another step closer and I smelled the alcohol. I asked cautiously, “Are you in trouble?”  
  
Suddenly his hands gripped my sleeves. I heard him say, “Believe me when I tell you that someone is going to die tonight if you don’t help me, Father, because I’d kill to fuck you!”  
  
His breath blasting in my face was the last thing I made sense of. I honestly don’t know how the rest could’ve happened. I fell from a shove that seemed furious. I picked myself up, only to have him twist fistfuls of my clothes until he’d pushed me back against the concrete. I swung out, forgetting vows, anything but my own survival. Never mind the preposterous request.  
  
He came at me. I braced myself, never expecting it was his mouth that would completely undo me. I recoiled from the taste of blood. A million warnings screamed against disease, but the warmth of his face, his breath, the slick ease and fit as he wrestled my mouth open, not to mention how he held me, pinning my arms and thrusting against me... And I realized with horror that I was no longer fighting back.

His bulk cleaved into me, rubbing and lifting as he kissed me. My mouth hung open, unpracticed, but undeniably intrigued by what he slipped into it. I tried to follow his lead, shaping my lips, turning my head, but he was too fast. He delved at my tongue one minute and raked along my collar the next. He inhaled me, chewing at cloth and skin. His teeth twisted the material at my chest,  
catching... well, my nipple. This caused a bit of shock, impairing my will to stop him from lifting the hem of my cassock.  
  
Both of us seemed to know by then that my pushing him away, my fight, was about something else. I needed him to let me fight, but not let me win. Oh, how I have needed that! How could a stranger know? Was it written on my face? His hand claimed what it was looking for, cupping me and pulling all of me to a point. Point to point, we met. Though clothed, our organs strained for complete contact.   
  
I worried, hoisted as I was against concrete and his thrusts. Worried about things I didn’t want to do, things he might want of me, if he was so sure he could have this much. How distasteful the word ‘pounding’ is, but then, in his arms, I could find no other word for this stage in our actions. My head, driven back and hitting the structure behind me, allowed no hiding from that realization.   
  
 In the end I clung to him. My final defenses broke. I couldn’t help it.  
  
 He rasped, “You were supposed to be here last night. Pam would still be alive if we’d done this last night.”  
  
Sweat cooled. He released me. My vestment, crinkled, slipped back down over my pants. I was trying very hard to make sense of what I’d just done and trying equally hard not to understand what he’d said. He backed away, disappearing into the dark.  
  
Now I want to go to the police. But I’m not ready to expose my confusion when I don’t understand it myself. Besides, the news hasn’t reported any more horrible slayings.   
  
I’ve stopped trying to figure out why he needs it. Why me? Yes, I fear what he’s capable of, but it does seem to keep people from dying.   
  
So there he is again under the street light. I feel his footsteps more than I hear them. I cross the road and head for the underpass to help the lost souls there,  the Pams of the world.

He follows me.

_________________________________________________

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